


A strange day

by Iolanfg



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Humor, M/M, Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 12:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16450070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolanfg/pseuds/Iolanfg
Summary: Once a year, Sherlock is not Sherlock, and Mycroft is not Mycroft.Horrible summary, as always.





	A strange day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the one-word challenge on the FB page "Mystrade is our division": "Strange"  
> Obviously, Sherlock is Doyle's, and this is based on the characters of Moffat and Gatiss.  
> English is not my first language, in fact I use fics to learn some English. This has been translated directly by DeepL Traductor. I apologize for the mistakes, and if anyone wants to correct me I will be more than happy to learn.

To say that you were living a strange day when your day to day included Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes was like any other person who said that night was followed by day. But for years, no one knew how or when it started, something strange and terrifying was happening with the two smartest brothers in London.  
Every 14th October, at 12' 59 PM, Sherlock Holmes went to sleep. He got up early, took a shower and prepared breakfast, cleaned the dishes and dedicated himself to conscientiously cleaning and tidying up 221B. He did the shopping and was polite, courteous and kind to everyone, with no insults or painful deductions.  
He called his parents and listened attentively and patiently to everyone. If Detective Inspector Lestrade asked him for help with a case, he would look at it with horror because he didn't do fieldwork. That day there were no experiments, no shots against the wall, no visits to the morgue.  
After cooking, eating and cleaning the dishes, he sat in front of her PC, frowning at the images the camera reproduced and insisting on calling someone who was obviously ignoring him.  
Later, a woman was intercepted outside his office, she would sigh resignedly when she was taken to a warehouse where she was questioned about her boss's eating habits, addictions and relationships. She said no when he was offered money for spying on him.  
A certain DI would receive more or less similar treatment, except that the questions would include a veiled threat upon arrival at the part where he was asked what his intentions were toward a certain government official.  
Every October 14, at 12'59 PM, Mycroft Holmes took off his three-piece suit, leaving his clothes anywhere, putting on old jeans, a long coat, a pair of slippers, and going out into the suburbs. After lunch, he would return home, gaunt and disheveled, throw his slippers in the hallway, take off his clothes and throw them around the house, put on a ragged robe and an old sweatshirt and go to the kitchen, where he ate everything, leaving dirty dishes and leftovers everywhere, and try to entertain himself with as noisy and destructive an experiment as possible.  
Or he would take books from the library and discard them seconds later by throwing them on his shoulder against the floor at the cry of "Boring!  
Whatever you ask Mycroft that day, you'll have three possible answers, "Who cares?" "I'll have erased it""Boring, boring, boring!"  
That, of course, if he deigned to listen to you in the first place.....  
If there was a case in the Yard, Mycroft would run to the scene of the crime, spitting out deductions and insults in equal parts with an energy never seen before, until Gregory Lestrade threw him out.  
On that day, any document or work call would be ignored, shouting "Boring! Anthea had long since diverted calls to Mr. Holmes on October 15 from that little incident with Iran, Germany, the United States, Russia and North Korea. At the same time. Nothing worth mentioning, really. The world does not have to know how those irreconcilable enemies came to their senses one day. The British don't have to know how close they came to annihilation... Only Sherlock's calls reach Mycroft's phone on October 15.  
Calls that Mycroft, of course, ignores because his brother is boring and he prefers text messaging.  
At nightfall, a calm and somewhat exasperated Sherlock will drag a very confused John Watson to the house of an unrecognizable Mycroft, whom you will find with his back to the door making his violin cry, or jumping on a sofa, or stringing letters with his sword with the word "confidential" and nailing them to the wall.  
He'll sit snorting and growling in his chair, shouting at Sherlock to leave, while the detective will simply raise an eyebrow contemptuously, wrinkling his nose at the disorder, while sitting in front of his brother and throwing comments at him about his lifestyle and harmful habits.  
If you ask them what the hell was going on, Mycroft would tell you that his little brother is a pompous and ridiculous controller.  
Sherlock would tell you that he cares about his older brother. Constantly.  
If on the 16th you ask any of them what happened the day before, Sherlock frowned, without really listening to you, as he mumbled about the boring and unimaginative murderers, or about Mrs. Hudson and her dusting mania.  
Mycroft tilts his head, like a curious lizard, and raises an eyebrow not knowing what you're talking about, while apologizing for interrupting the pleasant conversation, but has many calls to attend and some war to stop, which makes those who know them exchange glances wondering if they have been victims of a collective hallucination. Again.  
Yes, definitely October 15th is a strange day in the already strange Holmes Universe.


End file.
